Those Winding Paths That Cross In The Darkest Nights
by yas-m
Summary: Jack and Kate meeting in different timelines and alternate universes. No plot per se. More of a character study if you will.
1. Fire

I don't know what I'm doing. I just got back from my vacation and will soon be getting back to Sins of the Father and Blindfolded Realty, but in the meantime this happened. It's different, something I wanted to try. Jack's and Kate's paths crossing in alternate universes? Something like this I suppose. Hope it doesn't suck all that much.

**Those Winding Paths That Cross In The Darkest Nights**

**1. Fire**

Her black dress is a little too short and she is getting tired of pulling it down. She politely accepts the sixth drink of the night, sent to her by one of the "gentlemen" at the bar. She rolls her eyes when he finally looks away and places it next to the others on the table next to her. Any other night, it would have been welcomed. On those nights when she would have been out on a job, searching the bar for the first dumb rich guy who'd buy her a drink before inviting her over, most of the times to a hotel room upstairs. They'd rarely make it past the front door. Soon enough she'd have him drugged and passed out with his cash and credit cards in her purse and she'd be gone. _But not tonight_. Tonight is her night off. It was not her first time in Los Angeles but it was her first time in this specific part of the city. She could never hit the same place twice, of course.

She scans the area around her; there's a party of trust fund kids, a group of lawyers celebrating a win, a couple of bankers in a heated discussion and some smaller groups scattered around. She is pretty sure every single one of the men has already checked her out, a few of the women as well. It is her job after all, and she knows how to play the role. She finally turns her gaze to the one man who had not looked at her all evening. This is a rare phenomenon. It happens occasionally, usually a man with a wife that looks like she would make him spend the evening on the couch if he made a wrong turn, but even those snuck a quick look when the wife went to the ladies' room. _But not this one._ He sits alone at the bar, an expensive suit, no ring on his finger; short cropped hair and a collar of a dark burgundy dress shirt peeking from behind his suit jacket below the clean line of his dark brown hair.

The bar is almost empty when she finally leaves her table and heads towards him. She gets pulled towards him, like metal shavings to a magnet. She sits two seats away from him at the bar and watches closely as he traces the tip of his glass with his fingertips. She looks up and studies his face; strong jaw and a rough scruff, knotted brow and thick eyebrows; he bites his lower lip and shuts his eyes; his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose and she can see the expensive watch rounding his left wrist. She watches him closely expecting him to feel her gaze on him and look back. _But he doesn't_. She shifts her eyes back to her drink, occasionally looking up to watch as the other customers continue to trickle out of the bar.

"Looks like they're gonna kick us out," she says as the last of the customers, besides the two of them, walk out.

He shakes his head, a subtle sideways shake and replies, "We're ok for a bit longer," before he motions to the waiter to refresh both their drinks.

She stares at the fresh glass in front of her for a minute before she reaches for it; _the first drink from a stranger she has accepted all night_.

"You're not working tonight," he says; doesn't ask, just says it, and he still does not look at her.

She prays that her face is still calm and shows no sign of shock as she looks up at him. Does she know him? Does he know her?

"Excuse me?" she asks, her voice casual and comfortable, professionally betraying the panic starting to bubble within her.

"A lot of potential targets here tonight, but you're still here," he says, finally looking up at her, and she swallows a gasp, "that guy at the end of the bar, the one who bought you three drinks, surely you recognized the heir to the world's largest hotel chain."

She replaces the worry with anger and pushes the drink away, "How dare you! Who do you think you are? _You do not know me!",_ she spits out venomously. Is her memory betraying her? Has she conned him before? She never forgets her victims. She couldn't have possibly forgotten about him. _Something about him seems unforgettable._

He just smiles, smirks actually, drops his eyes back to his drink after a moment of studying her face and speaks, "Seattle, two years ago, there was a medical conference," his words are short, quick and cold and she just stares at him. She remembers it quite well.

_But it was not him._

"The last evening we're there, my friend, Mark Sloane, sent me a text message, saying I was an idiot for not going out with them that evening and that he was going up to his room with the most beautiful woman I could ever imagine. He even sent me a picture of her, and he was right, she was…_is_… _excruciatingly_ beautiful," he is not flirting with her, he is not complimenting her, and she silently curses the light blush she feels creep across her cheeks.

"He woke up the next morning, no phone, no wallet, no credit cards, no cash," he states, a sprinkle of disappointment in his voice, "and he has no memory of what happened after getting on that elevator with that beautiful woman."

They sit in silence for a few minutes and she watches him. His calm, quiet façade never flinches, the small smile never leaves his lips, _but it's not smug_, it is something else, something she doesn't recognize. She sees a flicker of sympathy but pushes that thought away. She cannot afford it. He watches her too, the icy, confident look on her face, the almost unperceivable way she chews the inside of her mouth, the speed of her thoughts, reflecting in her bright green eyes and her hands tirelessly working the hem of her dress.

"Are you going to call the cops?" her question surprises him slightly and he shrugs.

"I don't know yet," he says.

"Why not?" she retorts quickly.

"Maybe I want to hear your side of it first," he replies.

She raises an eyebrow at him, his attitude getting on her nerves. She sighs, "what makes you think I have my own side of it? And if I did, what makes you think I am going to share it with a complete stranger?"

He shifts in his chair, twisting around until he's facing her completely, for the first time paying her full attention and shrugging off the last of his nonchalance. "Because I don't think this is your primary career and lifestyle choice. If it is, you wouldn't have let the opportunity of the blond blue eyes hotel heir slip from your grasp like that. And I think you're going to tell me your side of it because otherwise you would have left already. If you had any doubts that I would call the police, you would have left a long time ago," he explained.

She stares him down as the steely look in his brown eyes changes into something different, warmer, gentler and she soon realizes it is because her expression has changed, the iciness in her look has softened, she is relenting to his attempts to make her open up. _And she hates herself for it._

Who does he think he is?

"I don't owe you an explanation," she says, trying one last attempt at being cold and distant but he just nods in response and it is the last straw.

"I'm paying a debt," she finally says, after minutes of calculated silence, and it is enough for him to put his drink down and shed all his focus on her.

"My step father was a drunk who beat up on my mom every single day," she says, her voice low and her words short, and when he raises an eyebrow at her she quickly adds, "he never hit me."

"My mom never defended herself, never stood up to him and never went to the cops," she said, "she was not going to do anything about it so I did. I couldn't take care of him myself so I found someone to help me," she explains, "but the cost was a little too high. Ever heard the expression "selling your soul to the devil?" yeah, that's exactly what I did." She finishes her sentence with a long drink, and waited on his reaction but he just watches her, intently, with heightened interest, and the way he looks at her changes, there's no more disgust, not more sorrowful sympathy, there's something else, something she does not recognize.

"I've been paying back that debt ever since," she says.

He studies her for a minute, analyzing her story, mercilessly and meticulously. She grows anxious when he fails to say anything and instead of waiting for him, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper, reluctantly handing it over to him. "What is this?" he says taking it from him, but she doesn't reply, waits for him to unfold it and read what's in it. He scans it suspiciously, a list of names, mostly men, and then he reads that one name that explains it all. It is a list of all the people she has conned.

"A trophy list?" he says, and it comes out crueler than he meant it to be. He begins to attempt an apology but she is too quick, snatching the paper away, her lips pursed and she folds it back into her purse.

"You think I enjoy this?" she spits back at him, "I keep this list so I can at least try to redeem my sins when this is over."

His face softens, his gaze gentle, he looks down and whispers an apology. When he looks back up at her, he finally sees her. She is not staring at him anymore, the solid wall she has managed to keep up for so long begins to crack and she is vulnerable. She is vulnerable, broken, human.

_She is beautiful._

He's cynicism starts to shatter as he watches her fighting against the tears that threatened to fall. He tentatively reaches over, a shaky hand lands on her shoulder in attempt to comfort her, to apologize.

He has no right to judge her, to corner her like that and force her into this confession.

He tries to say that but somehow the words fail to leave his lips and he cannot stop looking at her.

_She is so beautiful._

His cautious fingers lightly touch her shoulder and suddenly he wants more. _He needs more. _He is not a risk taker, never was, not outside the OR at least. One deep breath later he takes the biggest risk of his life and says, "how much more do you have on that debt?"

She looks up at him, questioningly she searches his eyes for a reason for his question.

"How much longer do you need to keep doing this?" he explains.

"A couple of jobs… another 20K," she says.

He swallows; he knows he could be doing the biggest mistake of this life right now, _but there was just something about her._

"My assistant is quitting the end of the month," he blurts out and she stares at him with wide eyes, her head shaking on its own accord.

"What are you saying?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"You can pay off the 20K by next month and then we'll work out how it can be taken out of your paycheck every month," he says as though he has given it all the consideration in the world.

She stares at him for a minute and then, to his shock, she bursts out in laughter.

"You cannot be serious. You want to offer me a job?" She says in between laughs.

It finally hits him, how ridiculous it is, and he starts laughing as well, "yeah, I guess that's what I'm doing," he says, somberly despite the ludicrousness.

"I'm a complete stranger, and a con artist, who conned your friend, and you're offering me a job?!" she asks in shock again.

"I also don't know your name," he says, his lips stretching in a wide, heartfelt smile. And when that smile reaches his eyes with a twinkle, she cannot help but smile as well, genuinely now.

"I'm Kate," she says.

"Jack," is his simple reply. A single syllable and an honest smile.

* * *

Coming Up:

**2. Wind**

**3. Water**

**4. Earth**

**5. Void**


	2. Wind

**Those Winding Paths That Cross In The Darkest Nights**

**2. Wind**

The wind blows against them, their thighs brushing in sync with their forearms. The warmth of his skin against the coolness of her sends shivers down her spine.

He's waiting for her to speak and she bites her lip.

She came to Phuket to run away from the Feds. She killed her father. She planned it for months and executed it with no remorse.

He came to Phuket because he found his wife with his best friend. He found them in his office just as he came in to tell his best friend that his father's surgery had been a success.

The first day she was the beautiful brunette serving drinks at the hotel bar.

The first evening he's the last customer at the bar who asks her if it was okay to stay there just a bit after closing hours.

The first kiss was a curiosity.

The second kiss was a taste.

The third kiss was a question.

And all that came after that was just right. And wrong in every single way.

They don't exchange names that first night. _Or the second. _When they finally do, he smiles and whispers hers softly against her scorching skin. _Kate_. Her name on his lips a sweet secret.

And not only because her name tag actually says Monica.

The text message she sent him is vague enough.

_Meet me at the beach. _

They never meet at the beach. They never meet anywhere that isn't the center the king size bed in his hotel room, or against the door to his bedroom door or that one time on the balcony of his hotel room.

The silence between them thickens, weighed down by the speeding wind and then she shivers again. He knows why she wants to see him, why she wants to see him here and not _there_.

They have both known it from that first night together but neither has spoken about it. They don't really talk as much as they do _other_ things.

Nonetheless, her silence haunts him. Her silence feels like a cold hand creeping up on him and he shudders.

He decides then to be the first to break the silence. "Are you going back home?" he asks and immediately scoffs at how ridiculous the notion even is.

She shakes her head. _Home_ no longer exists in her dictionary. "There is no home," she whispers. She had left it in ashes, and on top of that she left pain, heartache and betrayal.

She doesn't say anything else and he doesn't ask. She is leaving and that is that. They both acknowledge it silently. But he wants to scream. He wants to grab her and scream.

_Why do you have to run away?_

_Why are you running away from me?_

_Why are you running away from everything between us?_

_Why are you running away from all that is right?_

_This is right! Just as right as the winter rain gives life to the wheat that blows in the spring breeze!_

But he does not. He just sits there, silently, and watches the ocean bend and disappear off the horizon. He studies that mysterious line, searching in it for meaning, for a truth.

But he knows the biggest truth is what lies between them.

She might never know. She _will_ never know the truth of the many thousand ways she fixed him. In this handful of days, she healed his every wound. And now she breaks him all over again, in another million ways.

They continue to say nothing and the silence grows more violent, a calloused ax cutting between them, cutting through them and he knows she is crying.

He wants to pull her into his arms, hold her to him, kiss her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

_Her lips._

Stealing a kiss from her now is all he wants.

She turns to him, lifts her hands up to his face, her soft fingers press against his stubbled cheeks and her forehead rests on his. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Her scent surrounds him, engulfs him and he feels alive. He feels _complete_.

The wind blows harder, her curls brush against his skin, and the temptation to bury his fingers in them is too tempting.

What she does next is the last thing he expects her to do. She pulls back and pulls out her phone. She leans her head on his shoulder and takes a picture of the two of them. He wants to laugh at how ludicrous it all is but he just cannot.

Her hands come up to the back of his, fingertips teasing the short hairs there, and she fights against every urge to kiss him.

"We'll meet again," she whispers, her lips dangerously close to his lips, "maybe in a year, or two, or ten," she adds tearfully.

"Or in another lifetime," he whispers under his breath.

And with that she is gone.

He falls back, lying in the cool golden sand, his legs spread out, the warm waves ending just where his feet meet the ocean.

His skin burns. The skin that she last touched it burns.

He imagines the scars it will leave will look like home.

Cool wind brushes against his skin and he lets the tears roll down his cheeks.

Neither one of them said goodbye.

_Goodbyes_. That is the one thing they will always have.


	3. Water

**Those Winding Paths That Cross In The Darkest Nights**

**3. Water**

All he knows about her is that she's a friend of someone who works with Marc. He has seen her a few times before, times when Marc guilts him into going out after weeks spent doing nothing but work. A few of those times they go to share a quiet drink, catching up like lifelong best friends do. Other times, Marc drags him to much larger gatherings, loud parties where he knows close to nobody except for Marc, or crowded clubs with more than a dozen people whose names he forgets later that evening. It is at a couple of those gatherings that he has seen her. They have shared a few glances across those parties but nothing more. He doubts he even remembers her name, or that they have ever been actually introduced. But he would be lying if he says she has not grabbed his attention every single time.

She is unlike any of the other women he is used to meeting in LA; a green eyed brunette with wild unruly hair in a sea of blondes. There is something beautifully natural about her, the way she looks, the way she walks, so different from the fake, plastic surgery addicts he is used to meeting at these places.

They are barely acquaintances - _he really isn't sure if he has ever learned her name or not_ - but right now he finds himself carrying her on his shoulders as she sings at the top of her lungs along with the band on stage. He isn't exactly sure how she ended up sitting on his shoulders; the exact words of that conversation completely blurred in his memory. But there she is now and he laughs at himself at how much he did not want to come to the concert in the first place.

Marc had burst into his office late that afternoon and slapped the tickets on his desk. He had said he would not leave unless Jack was with him. He had tried to squirm out of it, citing the paperwork on his desk and the long day he had had, but Marc was having none of it. He finally gave in but that did not stop him from complaining the entire drive over.

_He is not complaining now._

He looks up at her and smiles. She has her arms up in the air, swaying with the music, and even though she completely misses the tune, she still sings with all her heart. She is so light and fits perfectly on his broad shoulders but for one second he loses balance and she almost falls off. She panics briefly before his hand lands on her bare thigh and secures her in place. Her hand lands on top of his, and they both gasp. He looks up at her and mouths a silent apology. She smiles and shakes her head, and it is only then that he notices the golden freckles adorning her cheeks and nose, her slightly uneven front teeth and the magnetic twinkle in her jungle green eyes.

She is perfectly secure on his shoulders right now but that does not stop him from bringing his other hand up and resting it on her other thigh, under the pretense of keeping her safe. He spends the next couple of songs watching her. He does not even know what song the band is playing anymore because he is too busy falling for the beautiful woman on his shoulders.

His shoulders are pretty sore by the end of the concert, but if he is any pain he does a good job of hiding it. She eventually jumps off and with a gentle, thankful squeeze to his arm she joins the swarm of women heading towards the ladies' room.

There are three cars for the return trip and he thanks a greater power when she ends up in his. A guy and two girls slip into he back seat of his truck and he watches her hop in the front before Marc. He makes sure she is not looking when he rolls his eyes at Marc's suggestive smirk and gets in.

The first half hour of the drive, everyone is raving on and on at how good the band was and how much fun the concert was and all he cares about is glancing to his right every few minutes to watch her beautiful glowing with excitement. He can also see Marc from the corner of his eye and he wishes she were not sitting between them so he can elbow him in the ribs. He feels fifteen again, back when Marc teased him for weeks because he had a crush on the seventeen year old head cheerleader.

The conversation starts to die out slowly, tired partyers falling asleep one after the other until it's only the two of them left awake. The three in the back drop against each others' shoulders and Marc has his head against the window. And they both sit side by side quietly.

And he realizes he still does not know her name.

"You can go to sleep too if you want," he says after he notices her yawn for the tenth time.

She flashes him a wide bright smile and shakes her head, "I'm okay," she says, "someone's gotta make sure you don't fall asleep at the wheel."

He chuckles at her comment and reaches across to turn on the radio, her knuckles brush over her thigh for the briefest moment and she prays he does not notice the way her skin shivers at his touch.

They make small talk for a while but mostly enjoy the silence over the music as they cruise down the dark highway. She does eventually fall asleep and instead of her head dropping back against the seat or onto Marc's shoulder, she chooses him. Her warm cheek rests against his arm. And even though it more or less renders his right arm useless to drive with, he makes no attempt to move her.

She wakes up when he brings the car to a stop at the gas station and he whispers an apology for waking her up. She responds with another one of those smiles that take his breath away and surprises him when she hops out of the car with him. She reaches into her pocket and fishes out some change, "Can I get you something?" she asks as she gestures towards the convenient store.

"Yeah, a bottle of water would be great," he says.

She walks back out towards the truck and he is leaning casually against the side with an eye on the pump. She offers him on of the two Apollo bars she had bought and leans against the truck next to him, shoulder to shoulder and skin to skin. She takes a sip from the water bottle and passes it to him. He accepts it gratefully but before he brings it to his lips she hears a chuckle escape his throat. She looks up at him, for the first time noticing the significant height difference between them and raises an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know your name," he whispers wistfully.

Her head drops in a bashful smile, and she does not know why she is blushing, "Kate," she says after a moment, and when he smiles her heart skips a beat.

"Jack," he offers in return and when he lifts the bottle to his mouth his eyes do not leave hers.

When she falls asleep again, during the second half of the ride, he anticipates it, and instead of letting her head fall on his arm, he lifts it, allowing her head to fall against his chest, chocolate curls warm against it, and his arm wraps around her shoulder, his fingers rest against her skin and this time he feels it when she shivers under his touch.


	4. Earth

**WARNING!**

This is going to be sad. Very very sad. So sad that I've been debating for so long whether I should write it or not. But the thing is that I actually so this in my dream and I don't know… It felt like I should write it, y'know?

Anyway, grab a box of tissues before you start reading this if you're gonna go ahead and do it.

* * *

**Earth**

His eyes are bloodshot red but dry, too dry, and he focuses all his attention at scrubbing his hands clean. And they probably are by now, as he has been at it for the last twenty minutes. The salt water stings his calluses and curses the ocean water for not being sterile enough to clean the blood off his hands. Things were not supposed to end this way.

The sun is setting on the island and he remembers the day's sunrise, he remember how different things were just a few hours ago.

He had woken up a half an hour before sunrise and gotten out of bed slowly, careful not to wake her up. He stepped out, let the brisk cool island breeze wake him up and he looked around him. What was once a makeshift temporary camp, with tents made of tarp and random airplane wreckage had turned into a permanent community of log cabins. Six years on from the crash, the once simple pantry had turned into a communal center for the compound, the shy medical tent into a confident clinic and the foundation that Mr. Eko had set for the church had become their ever growing school.

_The school he had imagined their son would attend in a few short years._

It was supposed to be just another early spring day on the island, six months to the day since they "celebrated" the crash's sixth anniversary. They'd had breakfast together and were supposed to meet for lunch.

He wasn't supposed to be called to their cabin by a frantic Claire and find her lying unconscious and bleeding. She'd only just started her third trimester and was perfectly healthy. _This was not supposed to happen._

_She was fine and then just suddenly fell down!_

_Jack! What's happening?_

_Is the baby going to be ok?_

_Is she going to be ok?_

_Oh my God, Jack, she stopped breathing!_

His hands were shaking, his eyes blurry with tears and he suddenly forgot twenty years worth of medical knowledge. He was losing them both and he couldn't breathe.

Seven hours later, he stands still at the edge of the water, his blood stained shirt sticking to his sweaty back, his hands, now finally clean, fall to his sides, shaking, trembling, his knees too weak to carry him any longer, he collapses onto the wet sand.

He finally breaks down.

Seven hours later and he can finally cry. He had held his still born child - _a boy just as she hoped for the past six months_ – against his chest as Sayid helped him dig the small grave. He had stood there, watching Sayid, cradling his son, and stared as the small hole in the earth grew deeper. He wanted to cry, needed to cry, but he just could not.

He carries himself with heavy legs towards their cabin, gets rid of his shirt before he walks in. He kneels next to the bed, sits on his knees and with a hesitant, quivering hand; he wipes a curl from her brow. _She does not even flinch at his touch. _She lies on her back, hands at her sides, perfectly still. Her blank stare bores a hole in the cabin roof and he is not sure whether she even notices his presence. He suddenly feels so much heavier as his knees sink into the warm earth, and he just wants to pull her to him, hold her, apologize for failing her so terribly, for failing to protect her, to protect their child. He just wants to hold her in a crushing embrace, to drown her sorrows into him.

But he is scared of touching her. He watches her, so broken, so fragile, he knows one wrong more and she will shatter. So he just sits next to the bed, one hand on the mattress, almost touching her hand but not daring to close that almost invisible gap between their fingers.

They stay in their position for hours, as the dark night makes way for the early morning sun, light breaks into their cabin through the small cracks in the wood. He knows he needs to get her to drink water and eat something; she's too weak, too sick, but his legs have no strength to carry him.

She does not turn to him when she finally speaks, her eyes still staring blankly at nothing, her body still lying completely still, her voice is choked and frail, "Was it a boy?" she asks and the tears start falling down his face at her words.

"Kate," he whispers, urging her not to ask this question, begging her to save him and herself the pain of talking about it.

She stays silent for a few moments, listening to his quiet sobs and then brings her hand up to her now flat stomach, where a few hours ago her baby bump was, where she would joyously rest her hand and feel their child move and kick. A strangled sob escapes her throat and she whispers, "please, Jack, I need to know."

He looks at her, unabashed tears staining his cheeks, and watches how gently she lays her hand on her flat stomach. He takes a risk, an uncalculated chance, and places his hand on top of hers, gently, softly, almost imperceptibly. "You were right," he whispers.

And his hearth breaks again, the thousand pieces that broke the night before, shatter into a thousand more when he watches that single tear slip down her pale cheek.

* * *

OMG! That was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I am sorry I put you through this. Really sorry. I promise to make the next chapter so happy, so fluffy, so sweet, it just might give you a tooth ache.

Please don't hate me :/


	5. Void

_**Fire**_

_"Fire", represents the energetic, forceful, moving things in the world. Animals, capable of movement and full of forceful energy, are primary examples of Fire objects. Bodily, Fire represents our metabolism and body heat, and in the mental and emotional realms, it represents drive and passion. Fire can be associated with security, motivation, desire, intention, and an outgoing spirit._

_**Wind**_

_"Wind", represents things that grow, expand, and enjoy freedom of movement. Aside from air, smoke, and the like, Wind can in some ways be best represented by the human mind. As we grow physically, we learn and expand mentally as well, in terms of our knowledge, our experiences, and our personalities. Wind represents breathing, and the internal processes associated with respiration. Mentally and emotionally, it represents an "open-minded" attitude and carefree feeling. It can be associated with will, elusiveness, evasiveness, benevolence, compassion, and wisdom._

_**Water**_

_"Water", represents the fluid, flowing, formless things in the world. Outside of the obvious example of rivers and the lake, plants are also categorized under Water, as they adapt to their environment, growing and changing according to the direction of the sun and the changing seasons. Blood and other bodily fluids are represented by Water, as are mental or emotional tendencies towards adaptation and change. Water can be associated with emotion, defensiveness, adaptability, flexibility, suppleness, and magnetism._

_**Earth**_

_"Earth", represents the hard, solid objects of the earth. Emotionally, it is predominantly associated with stubbornness, collectiveness, stability, physicality, and gravity. It is a desire to have things remain as they are; a resistance to change. In the mind, it is confidence. When under the influence of this "mood", we are aware of our own physicality and sureness of action. _

_**Void**_

_"Void", but also meaning "sky" or "Heaven", represents those things beyond our everyday experience, particularly those things composed of pure energy. Bodily, Void represents spirit, thought, and creative energy. It represents our ability to think and to communicate, as well as our creativity. It can also be associated with power, creativity, spontaneity, and inventiveness._

* * *

**Void**

Christian was right, there is no "now" here.

Everything is different in this place; this _heaven_. Sights, smells, textures, colors, all seem to be… heightened, brightened and more illuminated. And time, time is different. Time here moves differently, unlike anything they had ever known before. What should be minutes often felt like hours, days even; and what should have taken months often felt like mere seconds. They remember everything from their life before; their lives, all the possible universes they could have lived in. They remember them as flashes, distant memories of all the "what ifs", but they know that their real life, the one that really matters, is the one they are living right now.

* * *

She sits next to him on the fresh green grass, cross legged as she engages in a lively conversation with Claire who sits on her right. They sit in James' and Juliet's large backyard, enjoying the cool breeze of the afternoon, all their friends gathered for their monthly gathering. He watches her as she smiles at something Claire says. A small dimple dips into her sun kissed cheek and he finds himself wondering what the proper medical term was for that specific dimple. He shakes the thought out of his head and laughs. The sound of his laughter catches her attention and she turns to him, a sweet smile still on her lips and a question in her look. He just smiles at her, her dimpled cheek displayed marvelously so close to him. He lifts a gentle finger to her warm skin, tracing the teasing dimple and the freckles across her cheekbone. The bright green of her eyes shines brighter in contrast to the dark eyeliner, and he dips his head slightly, brushing her lips with his in a feather soft kiss.

* * *

She rests her head against his shoulder and laces her fingers through his as they listen to James tell an elaborate tale of an exaggerated adventure. The sun is starting to set, its glamorous rays replaced by the light of the bright full moon. He twists their hands in his lap and exposes the inside of his arm, the colorful patterns of his tattoos forever mesmerizing her. She traces her finger over them, following the bleeding colors across his skin, smiling when he flinches slightly as she reaches a particularly ticklish spot. She remembers when he finally told her about them, wrapped in each other's arms, a sparkly sheath of sweat covering their heated skin, their labored breathing finally coming to rest, with her head resting on his chest, she asked him about them for what must have been the millionth time, not really expecting an answer what made his honest reply come as a welcome surprise.

* * *

There's music playing in the background (there seems to be music playing in the background all the time here), and Shannon has gotten all the children up and dancing barefoot in the grass. Their laughs of joy fill the night air as the rest of the adults watch blissfully from around the camp fire. Ji Yeon and Rachel, the young blond Ford, hold hands and twirl as fast as they can until they fall to ground, dizzy and hold their sides from the force of their laughter. Shannon carries Charlie Hume on her hip and dances around with him, playfully poking his full cheeks. The eldest of the young generation, a very blond six year old Aaron runs towards his aunt and uncle and tugs at Kate's hand.

"Come dance with me, Aunt Kate," he says, with an adorable lisp escaping through his missing front teeth.

She smiles and follows him onto the "dance floor". She dances around with him happily, giggling loudly when he tries to lead. They are onto their third song when she feels a strong hand on her waist, pulling her gently backwards against a strong chest. She gasps when his lips land close to her ear and he whispers, "Are you trying to make me jealous dancing with another man?"

She turns and he takes the opportunity to wrap both arms around her waist, "is it working?" she teases and he cocks his head slightly, pretending to think about it before he says, "what if it is?" She throws her head back in laughter, throwing a quick glance behind her to see that Aaron had joined the twirling du of Ji Yeon and Rachel, apparently not as possessive as his uncle; she thinks and turns back to her husband.

"You're going to have to learn how to share, Dr. Shephard," she whispers, as he slowly start swaying them with the music, "you're going to have some competition soon enough," she reminds him, with a quick glance to where their bodies are pressed.

He smiles, pure bliss drawn on his lips, before he continues their little game, "well that's not going to happen for another six months, and in the mean time, I plan on keeping you all to myself," he says with a playful wink.

She bites her lip, looking up at him she whispers, "you promise?"

He pulls her even closer, urging her to rest her head on his shoulder, he kisses the top of her head, and says, "Always."

END.

* * *

Well that's it for this little fic. I am sorry I have not updated any of my fics in a long time but I don't have internet access at home at the moment, haven't had in a month, and it's been horrible. HORRIBLE! So hopefully this makes up for it, and also hope this makes up for the previous heartbreaking chapter. It's fluffy enough isn't it?


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